


When

by themus



Category: The OC
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-20
Updated: 2007-03-20
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themus/pseuds/themus
Summary: A quick traipse through Ryan's early childhood.





	When

**Author's Note:**

> Poem by A. A. Milne

 

 

_When I was one, I was just begun._

 

Frank never wanted it. That much is clear.

A mistake, he called it. A waste of money. Another damn mouth to feed. Another screaming kid.

But Ryan is quiet. Always. As if he learned it in the womb. Never cry. Never make noise. Never disobey.

She can tell that he's the smart one.

Trey is five and jealous. What little attention he got is now always Ryan's. Because Ryan can't feed himself or dress himself. Ryan needs everything done for him. And there's barely enough love in this house for one kid.

So Trey causes trouble. He breaks things. He yells. He makes Frank mad.

And then Ryan cries. He sobs in her arms. Not because of the shouting. Nor the anger reverberating in the house. But because of Trey's blood and tears.

He shouldn't understand it yet, but he does.

And his first words aren't _Mom_ or _Dad_ or _more_. They are _Trey_ and _stop_ and _please_.

 

 

_When I was two, I was nearly new._

 

Frank loses job after job. He drinks away the welfare checks.

She pawns things to buy food and pay the utilities.

Her wedding ring goes first. The pictures her grandmother gave her. That cheap ceramic vase. Ryan's crib.

He sleeps in Trey's bed.

She was worried, but Trey doesn't yell and break things any more. He seethes and glares and answers back.

He knows words he shouldn't know. And he uses them.

But Trey knows lots of things he shouldn't know. Like how his father's hand feels wrapped tight around his neck. And the difference between a sprain and a broken bone.

The first time Ryan swears at Frank the bottom drops out of her world. Trey is in the doorway, smirking like he just hit the jackpot. She knows he put Ryan up to it. Because Ryan understands a lot of things but he doesn't understand that word.

And soon he understands how his father's hands feel. And he knows what a broken bone is.

And that night she catches Trey alone in his bed, crying.

 

 

_When I was three, I was hardly me._

 

Frank gets a job in construction and he keeps it.

He buys toy diggers for the boys. He tells them what Daddy does at work.

She drinks, waiting for it all to go sour, while the boys play quietly.

It's days, weeks later that she notices one of the diggers is gone. And that not until Frank asks about it.

One of the neighbourhood kids took it, Ryan tells him. His words are quiet and measured. They take concentration.

Frank wants to know who. Trey tells him. Frank gets his gun.

No one messes with an Atwood, he says before he leaves. He's going to give the kid's father a lesson in parenting.

She takes the kids into the back bedroom and waits for the gunshot.

It doesn't come. But she gets a phone call.

Assault. Six months in Corcoran.

She moves the boys to another neighbourhood. She tries not to worry about Trey on the way home from school. She knows what adult hands can do to a child.

Frank comes back and walks into his construction job.

She drinks, and waits for it all to go sour.

 

 

_When I was four, I was not much more._

 

Ryan starts preschool. She gets a job.

It all seems to go well for a while.

Ryan is smart, the teachers tell her. He works hard and understands quickly.

The bills are being paid. There is food in the cupboards. And alcohol.

She celebrates once in a while. Sometimes Frank celebrates with her. They get along with their neighbours.

She plays poker with some of ladies on Thursday afternoons. Ryan sits on her lap and watches. She tries to explain sometimes. He knows without being told not to give away her hand.

She can't share much with her children. She doesn't have much love left over after Frank. But she shares this.

Until she finds out about the scam Trey is running. Tricking the neighbourhood kids out of their allowances. Using Ryan as bait.

She doesn't tell Frank, but he finds out. And the bastard is proud.

 

 

_When I was five, I was just alive._

 

She thinks about divorce a lot. But she doesn't know how to live without a man now. And she knows she couldn't support both boys.

She thinks of taking just Ryan. He is still sweet. He still behaves. He's the good one, the smart one. He isn't ruined yet.

Trey is turning into his father.

She knows that he drinks sometimes. She knows he smokes pot.

She's waiting for him to go too far. Vandalise the wrong warehouse. Steal from the wrong store. Con the wrong kid. Take the wrong drug.

She's waiting for a call that she knows will come. It's only a matter of time.

She's waiting for Ryan to get caught up in it. That too, is only a matter of time.

The call she gets is another one she has been expecting.

Armed robbery. And fifteen years. And a divorce.

 

 

_But now I am six . . ._

 

She tries to make a change. Frank is gone, so Fresno goes too. A new job, a new neighbourhood and new schools.

But Trey is just the same, only angrier. More rebellious. He gets kicked out of school. He gets arrested. He runs riot.

She can't handle him. Only Frank could handle him. So she replaces Frank.

But the new man isn't Frank. And his discipline is no better. And he doesn't get that Ryan's silence isn't defiant. Not like Trey's. And by the time she gets rid of him Ryan is almost mute.

Trey blames her. But she needs a man to control her eldest son. She doesn't want him dead or in jail. She doesn't want him taking Ryan down with him.

And so she gets another man. And yet again Ryan is collateral damage. And yet again Trey blames her. And she doesn't know what to do about it except give up.

So she drinks, and she pretends she doesn't see it. Because it's easier that way.

She lets everything wash away in the haze of alcohol. Then she doesn't have to see Trey's bitterness. She doesn't have to hear Ryan's anguish. She doesn't have to watch her sons turn into the men she brings home. She doesn't have to think about all the mistakes she has made.

And she doesn't have to listen when Ryan empties her bottles down the drain and says _Mom_ and _stop_ and _please_.

 


End file.
